


Objective Complete

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a good thing Prowl's mate is a medic, because otherwise rebooting after a fight has rattled his battle computers logic circuits could get rather awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objective Complete

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beautiful_Infinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Infinity/gifts).



The medic managed a static yelp as he went from vertical to horizontal with no prior warning, his attacker growled, engine revving as he straddled the medic. This was unexpected, but not entirely unforeseen. Which was why they were in a private isolation ward when the medic had brought his attacker back online.

“Ratchet.” It was not so much a question as it was a statement of fact as the mech shifted position, clearly working through where he was, why he was here and what he should do next.

With such a sophisticated battle computer and logical reasoning programme working on the problem, the answer should be simple. Unfortunately for the medics who had to treat him, Prowl's battle computer over-rode normal functions and concerns after a hard reboot. Logic could be a very simple thing when the computations used to come up with answers have very little input. Where, would be on the Ark, in the medical bay, thus safe. Why, would be because Ratchet worked in the medical bay so why would he be anywhere else. What should he do about straddling a squirming medic? Only one answer was presented to the tactician upon entering that query.

Stop the medic from getting away.

Ratchet glared at the cuffs adorning his wrists. This was why he refused to let any other medic treat Prowl after he got knocked into medical stasis. Poor First Aid would be traumatised. On the plus side, the problem would fix itself with a reboot. Convenient then that interfacing generally caused that reaction. A pre-set cure that Ratchet definitely didn't mind administering (the fact that Prowl refused to let any mech close enough to shut him down and reboot him via a data port is beside the point).

First objective accomplished. Prowl's logical programming quickly created a new objective.

He ran his hand along the form beneath him, tracing the edges of armour panels. His engine revved as Ratchet quivered, a barely noticeable tremble rattling through his frame. Prowl lets the corner of his mouth rise in a faint smile before slipping his fingers into a gap in the medics hip. The rattle this time was louder and if he pressed his hand against Ratchet's windscreen he could feel the heat beginning to build.

The fingers dig deeper, aiming for protoform and the sensor net beneath the armour. It is the only logical course of action, as direct stimulation of the sensors provides a greater data reading. Stimulate enough of them and they will start to queue up data, information bouncing around the sensor net in a rising charge.

Beneath him Ratchet pushes upwards, his hips seeking the fingers teasing him as his fans whirr online, his deeper engine thrumming as he shifts his hips. The snick of a transformation is still loud, despite the noise of two engines and the small smile grows.

Second objective completed.

The third objective will need no prompting as Prowl lets his own armour slide back, as he realises something must change. It is easy enough to shuffle backwards, Ratchet frowns before Prowl nudges his legs apart and crawls back up his frame.

Prowl all but purrs as he sinks into the medic, the answering groan beneath him an answer for his unasked question. He braces himself against Ratchet's windshield, knowing the sturdy not-really-glass will hold his weight as he slowly pulls out, ignoring the snarl from below that sounds something like 'faster you slagging rusted motherboard'.

He presses in again, relishing the stimulation to every one of the sensors in his spike, the slow burn of charge building through his circuitry. Ratchet shifts abruptly arms and legs curling around Prowls frame, holding him, the cuffs actually aiding him as he uses them to anchor his hold around Prowl's neck “Stop fragging teasing me.”

The request is dutifully fed through Prowls higher processing unit, quick computations forming new results. Ratchet's vocaliser emits a static wail as the new plan is put into action and sensor nodes change from registering a slow build up of charge to a deluge of data that sends static jumping between their frames.

Warnings flash in front of his optics, quickly dismissed, they are not important now. Only the writhing frame beneath is worth any attention, hands pressing down against Ratchets hips, holding him in place as his vision washes into static, the slick tightness rippling with charge as the medic tips into overload.

Prowl snarls, his fingers curling into the frame beneath him as he thrusts into the lax frame before his main processor goes the same way as his optics in a dazzle of static charge, his limbs collapsing as his processor shuts down to protect against the discharge of energy.

“Online again?” Prowl blinks slightly to refocus his optics before realising that they aren't malfunctioning, he is seeing a white field because he is collapsed over Ratchet. He also has no idea why they are here, although he can make a pretty good guess, but a quick check in his memory logs gives him a firm answer.

“Again?” He asks as he pushes himself up so that all his weight is not on Ratchet, although the questions is merely rhetorical by now. This happens every time he takes a hard blow to the helm during a battle, and there really is no other explanation for rebooting in this position. Beneath him Ratchet smirks as he links his hands beneath his helm, not at all bothered by the cuffs still adorning them.

“Again sounds good.” Ratchet replies and Prowl lets himself slump back down onto the medic, his sensor panels twitching, he hadn't meant it like that. Beneath him he can feel his mate laughing, the vibrations rumbling up through his frame. “After all, I need to be sure that everything has reset.”

He raises his head just enough to meet Ratchet's gaze, “It might take a few attempts.”


End file.
